


From the heart that bleeds

by duckmoles



Series: the journey home [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday, Fix-It but not for the main thing, Gen, Light Angst, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-05 07:10:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15165341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckmoles/pseuds/duckmoles
Summary: Steve spends his hundredth birthday in Wakanda, still dealing with the fallout of Thanos. He doesn't feel like he's one hundred. He feels like he's one thousand.(In which Steve and Tony tentatively start to forgive.)





	From the heart that bleeds

**Author's Note:**

> sort of a sequel to [return unto the ground](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14495466), though they work as stand alones  
> For the Tony Stark Bingo, square A3: free space, since this is still about Steve+Tony.  
> also for Steve's birthday!! Happy one hundredth, my favorite old man.

Steve spends the morning of his hundredth birthday in Wakanda, talking to the remaining members of the UN and the EU alongside Okoye. Natasha doesn’t comment on the day when she sees him in the morning, but Banner does briefly before rushing back to the labs where he’s working. Steve doesn’t mind; he’s never made a big deal out of his birthday, too poor for any wild celebrations. He and Bucky usually settled on a spot by the Hudson, watching the fireworks explode over the river. And after he’d woken up from the ice, the thought of celebrating had seemed too surreal to even consider, and everyone else seemed to agree.

After the Avengers had reformed in the aftermath of HYDRA, they’d thrown him a small party. He still remembers the panicked feeling of shock before the recognition kicked in and he sheepishly sat down and blew out the candles on the tiny cake they’d set out for him. The birthday after that, he, Nat, Sam, and Wanda had been on a mission in southeast Russia, along the Chinese border. There’d been no time to celebrate, but they’d all taken the time to wish him a happy 97th.

Now, the thought of a birthday - of the acknowledgement that he was born one hundred years ago - exhausts him. He doesn’t feel like he’s one hundred. He doesn’t feel like he’s in his thirties either - his biological age. He feels like he’s a thousand years, feels like he has the world on his back with a weight that aches. He’s seen enough war and death for a lifetime - two, three. He’s seen Bucky die twice.

He leans back in his chair, the call shutting down, the angry voices of the world leaders fading from his hearing.

Okoye frowns from where she stands beside him.

“That could have gone better,” she says.

Steve sighs and rubs at his temples. He doesn’t have a headache thanks to the serum, but the phantom pain of a migraine haunts him. “It went as well as it could have,” he replies. He stands, stretches. “I’ll see you in the evening?” They have another meeting with the new President of the United States then. Until then, he’s promised to go out and help rebuild a city block that had fallen victim to the small riot that had broken out after Thanos. The rebuilding efforts have been slow - no one can spare any manpower, but it’s been nevertheless an ongoing process.

Okoye nods and leaves the room. She’s been different ever since Thanos - they all have, gone quiet and reticent, some more than usual.

Steve leaves only a moment after she does. He makes his way through the Wakandan palace halls with ease; he’s been here often enough to know the halls by rote, even if everything else has fallen apart around him.

Just as he’s about to exit the building, he spots Tony, who’s entering at an equally brisk pace. Steve’s not sure if he should slow down or speed up, say hi or keep his head down as they pass. Even though they’re ostensibly working together now, they still haven’t talked about the elephant in the room.

The Sokovian Accords have mostly fallen to the wayside, and Steve’s pretty sure no country cares about enforcing them anymore, at least for the foreseeable future, but Steve and Tony have barely acknowledged each other since the day that Tony stumbled into Wakandan grass after getting off a spaceship with the daughter of the man that devastated the world.

Steve slows his pace, deciding to take the diplomatic route.

Tony stares at his phone, typing rapidly. He looks haggard, shadows dark under his eyes, suit hanging slightly on his frame, making him look like a much smaller man. Since Tony arrived back on earth, he’s been traveling around the world just as much as Steve has, their lack of communication not wholly due to avoidance. From what Steve’s heard, Tony nominally lives in New York, but spends just as much, if not more, time in Wakanda, taking advantage of the country’s resources to communicate with the other nations.

Steve doesn’t envy Tony.

“Morning, Tony,” Steve calls.  

Tony’s head jerks up, a look of panic entering his gaze before he sees Steve. “Rogers,” Tony says. “Just the man I was looking for.”

Steve can’t help but feel surprise. He’d expected small pleasantries, not to be the target of Tony’s attention.

Tony puts his phone into his pocket. “Busy?”

Steve’s mind darts to the promises to help rebuild, then dismisses them. He’s not due until later in the afternoon, anyway. “No,” he says. “Not at the moment.”

Tony makes a face. Steve wouldn’t call it a grimace but then again, he’s never been good at reading Tony’s expressions. “Alright,” Tony says, “come with me.” He walks deeper into the palace, Steve trailing behind him.

As they walk, Steve realizes that they’re headed to the guest living quarters. Steve stayed here himself every once in a while when he dropped by to visit Bucky or meet with T’Challa (His heart aches at the thought – two to add to the body count.)

They stop outside what must be the rooms allotted for Tony whenever he drops by. “Wait here,” he says, before stepping in and closing the door on Steve.

Steve thinks that maybe Tony’s just going to leave him here, but it passes quickly as Steve realizes how ludicrous the thought is. Tony might be bitter, but he’s not cruel.

A few moments later, Tony steps out, holding a cardboard box. He doesn’t look Steve in the eye, instead staring somewhere around Steve’s left cheek.

“I found this while digging through Howard’s research,” Tony says. Right. There’s been talk of a secret project that Tony, Queen Shuri, Banner, the aliens, and the other Wakandan scientists have been working on. Steve doesn’t know what Howard Stark might have known about it, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

“I’m not sure what you think I’ll be able to get out of it, if any of you weren’t able to,” Steve says, though he takes the box from Tony anyway.

Tony shrugs. “You might find it useful anyway,” he says. He turns and starts walking the way they came, hands stuffed in his pockets. He looks tired, Steve thinks.

Just before he rounds the corner, he turns back, looks Steve directly in the eye. His eyes, sunken in deep, are steady nonetheless.

“Happy hundredth, Steve,” he says, voice brimming with something ineffable, and disappears from view.

Steve stares at where Tony was for a brief moment, as if he can still make out the ghost of him, then hefts the box closer to his chest. It’s heavier than he thought it was.

His rooms aren’t far from here, and he barely has to walk to push open the door to his own room. It’s a sparse place, clothes neatly packed into a single bag in the corner. His brand new Captain America suit, given and worn as a gesture of goodwill, lays folded on top of the night stand. There’s not much else.

He sets the box on the bed and opens it.

Steve gawks at the contents. On top is a framed picture that Steve barely remembers taking. It’s old, faded black and white, scratched up and obscured at the edges. He’s smiling in it, arms wrapped around Bucky and Dugan while Howard stands next to them, grinning at the camera. He picks it up carefully, as if it’s something holy.

Bucky looks so young in the picture. There’s a lightness in his face that has Steve aching because it’s a lightness that Steve knows he will never see again (He had hope once, watching the ice spread over the glass, Bucky’s face peaceful in rest. Now even the hope was gone.) Young Steve looks – Steve sets the photo aside, putting that train of thought to rest.

Underneath the photo is half of a shield Steve remembers Howard showing off, meant to be an improvement on the original. He’d lifted it up and then immediately put it back down, citing its weight and heft. Howard had scowled but taken it away, promising that the next one would be better.

There’s other things too – a nearly complete old uniform, some old bottle caps, a scribbled IOU from Dernier promising to pay Steve back as soon as he was able, and a pile of comic books plastered with a bad rendition of Steve’s face.  

Steve has no idea where Tony dug all this up. He thought most of it had been donated to the museum or to charity or – or something. It must’ve been in Howard’s private collection, and now Tony was just giving it back. He imagines Tony in New York, looking through a dusty old mansion for some old trinkets, just because – because he thought Steve might like to have it.

At the bottom of the box is a note. The front page reads, in Stark’s crisp letters, “ROGERS.” On the back, it says, “Come down to the lab. Got a surprise for you.” There’s a doodle of the shield as well, red white and blue in all its glory.

It’s a peace offering. Steve knows it. An olive branch, extended in a time of desperate need. And yet – he wants to take it.

He folds the letter up carefully and puts it into his pocket. He places everything neatly back into the box sans letter.

He goes down to the lab to meet Tony.  


End file.
